I was recently in Cornwall clearing my mother-in-law’s house. The property, in Penzance, was being sold and had to be emptied. The nearby council dump was a godsend. With its helpful staff and well-patrolled skips it seemed more than a mere facility; rather, a beacon of sanity and order in an increasingly mad, rule-less world.
Alexandra Shulman would, I think, agree with me. Her book of essays ranges high, wide and handsome over topics from white trousers to the hot drink of the title, but also the joys of the recycling centre, in whose complex etiquette she is clearly well versed. ‘We haul our loads up the metal stairs … deliberately not nosily examining what a neighbouring visitor might be dumping. Our rubbish is collectively agreed to be a private matter.’
As editor of British Vogue for twenty-five years, Shulman is generally associated with more glamorous surroundings. Oddly enough, I’ve shared these with her too. I was on the floor below at Tatler during her reign at Vogue House. Very occasionally she would appear in our midst, exuding a calm authority, looking about her with thoughtful dark eyes. We would all be slightly intimidated.
It’s interesting to see what Shulman herself made of Planet Glossy, as I used to think of it. There are several pieces here about the fashion world as seen by players like her. VIP lounges and penthouse suites. Luggage FedExed to the fashion-week cities, ‘ready to meet you in the hotel on arrival. Certainly, you were not to be seen lugging your own wheelie across the arrivals at Milan’s Linate.’ In an account of dinner at Valentino’s chateau we learn that tenue de ville is French for smart casual and that the correct way to serve mozzarella is in chunks, never balls.
And yet for all the glamour there’s a grounding sanity to these recollections. Shulman observes that there’s no relationship between what a party costs and how good it is – ‘you could almost argue it is in inverse proportion.’ She writes that sitting bang-centre of the fashion show front row did not always feel like a privilege. It could actually be a nightmare if, like her, you suffered from claustrophobia and panic attacks. ‘I would look along the row, planning how I could rush out if need be. I would scan the room for where the exits were.’
Other essays in this warm-hearted volume concern more everyday pleasures such as picnics and getting into bed. I particularly appreciated the ones on make-up because Shulman, like me, struggles with red lipstick: how to put it on, how to stop it coming off. It’s a comfort to know that, despite the best advice, despite tutorials and even spreadsheets, despite owning fifteen different red lipsticks, the ex-Vogue editor still hasn’t cracked it either.
Bigger subjects are also under consideration. Shulman writes with striking honesty about love and friendship, mothers and daughters, money and illness. Work, too, and the leaving of it, especially the prestigious position one has held for a quarter of a century. Shulman wanted to go, but it wasn’t easy. How would she spend her time, how would she dress, even? Her old job ‘conferred on me an authority which meant that whatever I wore would be considered appropriate’. She relates choosing, for a royal reception, a simple cashmere sweater and pencil skirt. ‘Well, she’s just wearing a grey jumper,’ a grand lady peer was heard grumping. ‘I suppose we’re all overdressed.’
Famously, Vogue editors help princesses of Wales with their wardrobes. A senior staffer, Anna Harvey, advised Diana Spencer. It fell to Shulman to discuss wedding dresses with the woman who would have been Diana’s daughter-in-law. Kate Middleton is quite mysterious to most of us, so Shulman’s glimpse is rare. Shown pages of possible designers to take on this presumably thrilling project, Kate hardly reacts at all. ‘It was impossible to read what she thought.’ As Shulman is leaving Clarence House, Kate finally asks for a steer and, at the suggestion of British label Alexander McQueen, ‘just nodded’. It was only at the actual wedding, seated in Westminster Abbey, that Shulman discovered her recommendation had been heeded.
Source: literaryreview.co.uk